


death doesn’t discriminate (it takes and it takes and it takes)

by Sanna_Black_Slytherin



Series: The Other 51 [17]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Bonding, Donald Trump 20never, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More angst, Pain, Politics, President Hamilton, Referenced Period-Typical Homophobia, Twitter, alexander is shot, this is literally all angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:45:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8879989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin
Summary: "What is this about?”
“Your son has been shot, sir.” Team Donald Trump 20never finally meets and comes up with a plan that could work (if you ask Alexander, anyway, which James doesn't). Also, pain.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry.

_Donald J. Trump_ @realDonaldTrump  
If the president continues to destroy America by allowing illegal immigrants into the country, drastic measures will have to be taken.

* * *

Alexander decided that enough was enough. Donald Trump has been allowed to rule unfettered for long enough. Almost too long.

A dozen well-placed calls later, Alexander had set up a meeting where they could, hopefully, overcome the partisan chasm and unite against a common enemy. He wished that he could say that he had not foreseen that even Republicans would agree that Trump was downright detrimental to their country, but Trump had long since bulldozed his way across lines even the staunchest Republicans hesitated to cross. Nobody in their right mind alienated every last person of colour, let alone half of the country's voters. To do both was just insane. Trump was a ticking bomb, and Republicans wanted nothing to do with him.

If successful, this would be the greatest bipartisan enterprise since the Compromise of 1790. If a failure, Trump had a high chance of becoming president and potentially ruining the country. There was a lot at stake, but Alexander was nothing if not a gambler.

_When you got skin in the game, you stay in the game, but you don’t get a win unless you play in the game._

He was willing to play, and he was set to win.

* * *

In the end, the meeting consisted of a relatively small group of individuals: Alexander, James, Lafayette, Burr, four Democrats, and four Republicans. Alexander had tried to choose prominent Republicans who were more liberal-minded than the average right-wing politician, but he knew that he had to invite some people with whom he would, under normal circumstances, never associate. They stood against everything he was fighting for. Some of them had opinions, dare he say, worse than Thomas Jefferson's, and that meant quite a lot coming from Alexander.

“I think we all know why we have gathered here,” Alexander began when they had all settled down.

One of the Republicans snorted. “I wouldn't have cleared my schedule of all appointments for just anything.”

Another Republican nudged him pointedly. “Behave,” he hissed. The first Republican rolled his eyes but subsided.

“Donald Trump is a blundering fool with no understanding of basic government,” Alexander continued. “I won't allow him to destabilize the country we have all worked hard to create. Any objections so far?” when nobody spoke up, Alexander fought off a smile. “He had announced his Republican candidacy back in June. Now, we need to prevent him from winning. The easiest way by far of assuring ourselves of that would be to prevent him from securing the Republican nomination next summer. For that, we need to push forward another candidate behind whom the entire GOP would need to unite. This person needs to me charismatic, optimistic, and experienced. In other words, we need to match Trump's strength while avoiding his weak points.”

“So we are looking for a Republican who isn't a privileged racist and homophobe,” one of the Democrats scoffed. “Good luck finding a person like that.”

“ _How dare you–_ “ the Republican from before made as if to stand up and, presumably, leave, but Alexander raised a hand to stall him.

“Wait, Mr Korinth. Sit down. Mrs Neeson, we are all here for the same reason. I would greatly appreciate it if you didn't unduly cause any fights,” he glanced at the Democrat in question, who glared at Korinth.

“Barring the insults, Mr Neeson is essentially correct,” James cut in. He glanced at the Republican delegation. “Any suggestions?”

“We need to cater to the same support base that Trump is drawing his support from,” said Ken Mehlman, “meaning a dissatisfied middle class, the majority of which being a Southern cis-het white male,” he summed up.

Alexander raised an eyebrow, steadily ignoring the discomfort of the rest of the Republicans at Mehlman's proclamation. Alexander derived a perverse sort of satisfaction from nettling conservative politicians – and, from what he had gleaned of the man, Mehlman was of a similar opinion. Simply the implications that there were people who weren't Caucasian or heterosexual seemed to cause the rest of the Republicans quite a lot of discomfort, and Alexander enjoyed the fact that he embodied neither.

Another Republican sighed, grabbing her glass of water. “As much as it pains me to say, it would be hard to find such a candidate in our party,” she said, shooting a warning look at Korinth, who looked ready to explode again. She then turned thoughtfully to Mehlman. “Although…” she trailed off.

Mehlman, seeing what she was contemplating, shook his head hurriedly. “No way, Dessa,” he said. “I'm not running for president.”

“You are a liberal-leaning Republican"—she ticked off her arguments on her fingers as she talked—“you are young, charismatic, and you are gay. You could be the anti-Trump,” she argued, a fervent gleam in her eye.

“I'm not–“ Mehlman began but Alexander cut in, already beginning to see the merit of the idea.

“It could potentially work,” he said hopefully. “If we are able to–“

“I'm not using my sexuality as a political tool,” Mehlman said forcefully. “Back when we discussed the national legalization of gay marriage, I didn't speak up, and I wish I had. I'm not making the same mistake twice. I know that I cannot do this. Trump distorts the values that the GOP stands for–“

 _What values?_ Alexander was tempted to ask, but refrained, because, like it or not – _not_ , for the record – he needed the Republicans on the same side.

“–turning them into something so disgusting that I am not in the least surprised that people who normally vote right are openly declaring that they will vote for you,” he met Alexander's searching eyes. “But I will not run for office. I don't want to be responsible for an entire nation.”

Every eye in the room turned to Mehlman. “Really,” Alexander drawled. “An honest politician? A rare breed indeed. Say,” he said conventionally, “if your career doesn't work out, come work for me. I believe that the world needs more people like you.”

“This brings us back to square one,” another Democrat reminded them. “If not you, then whom can we propose to outmatch Trump?”

Alexander turned the problem over in his mind. He could feel a solution forming, but he knew that it wouldn't go over well with the remaining politicians.

“Hypothetically,” he said conversationally, “is it possible for a person to run in two different candidacies?”

James narrowed his eyes. “What are you planning, Alexander?” he said, too used to Alexander's schemes to dismiss his question as immaterial.

Alexander eyed his vice president speculatively. “You are a registered Republican‚” he began.

“No,” James said at once.

“Are you implying what I think you're implying?” Dessa asked at the same time.

Korinth seethed. “I'm not going to stand for you pushing forward one of your puppets as the Republican candidate!” he yelled, face red as a tomato.

“So you'd rather elect Trump?” Neeson asked furiously, raising her voice to match his.

“ _Maybe I would!_ ” Korinth retorted sharply.

James cleared his throat, but the two arguing politicians took no notice of him. He closed his eyes, then opened them. “Silence!” he yelled, a tenacious in his voice that reminded Alexander that James Madison was not a person to be trifled with; his diminutive physique concealed a intellect sharp enough to match Alexander's own. “Thank you,” he said caustically. “Now, with all due respect, I am not, nor have I ever been, a puppet in anyone else's hands. Were I ever to run for office, I would do it of my own will,” he said tersely, still managing to convey his irritation for all to hear.

Korinth snorted. “Do you honestly expect us to believe that this isn't just some plan concocted by you and Hampton to infiltrate the GOP and manipulate us?”

Lafayette rolled his eyes. “Believe me, if they wanted to manipulate you, they wouldn't be as obvious about it. You would not even be aware that you'd be played. They are just _that_ good,” he paused, looking thoughtful. “Well, _James_ is,” he amended.

“Gilbert,“ James said in warning, “this is not helping.”

Lafayette ignored him. “Mind, I don't understand why Morrow would want to endanger his political career and go out on a limb just to help save your party, but I can see as clear as day that it's not out of any desire for power. See, he is currently the second most powerful man in the country, and, considering Alexander's approval rates, will be staying for another term. And after that… Well, who knows,” he quirked his lips into a smirk. “Anything could happen. He doesn't need you.”

James winced. “Yes, thank you for the vote of confidence,” he said, meaning anything but.

“How would that even work?” asked the third Republican. “Surely you wouldn't let your vice president run against you,” he tried to appeal to Alexander.

Alexander scowled. “I don't own James,” he responded. “He can do whatever the hell he wants, and if he wants to run for office against me, then who am I to stop him? Besides, he would still be my running mate.”

“What,” James said flatly, disbelief in his voice.

Alexander grinned. “Unless my memory fails me, there is nothing in the Constitution that prevents a person from running for two positions. In fact, until the election of 1800, that was exactly what happened, if you recall your history.”

Two Democrats exchanged chagrined glances, too embarrassed to admit their ignorance.

“This is a risky plan, Hampton,” Burr cautioned, speaking up for the first time since they entered the room. “Regardless of whether Morrow is chosen as the Republican nominee or not, I'm assuming you would still run as an independent, but you being each other's running mates would put your political independence into question. In fact, it would be as good as gone. You would be tied to the GOP regardless of how you choose to play this. Are you sure you want to proceed?”

“Aren't you just a lawyer?” Korinth glared. “What do you know about this?”

“And as such, I am well aware of people's thoughts, what sways them, how they perceive the world, and how they will react to any news,” Burr retorted. A distant corner of Alexander's mind, not occupied with concocting plans and schemes, was proud that Burr finally took a stance on a matter, especially since it was political.

_Small steps, Burr, small steps. There's hope for you yet.  
_

“Never mind that, Bartow,” Alexander waved a hand. “Can you confirm if it could work?”

Burr hesitated visibly. “Technically yes, but–“

“There you go,” Alexander beamed. “Listen, Aaron, a pumpkin is running for president, and I'm sorry, but I'm restricting the presidency for people who actually have an IQ of over sixty, which Trump has proven time and time again that he _doesn't_.”

Burr looked to the ceiling, as if praying for patience. “You heard nothing of what I just said, didn't you?” he asked rhetorically.

James shot him an amused look. “Get used to it, Bartow. It doesn't get better,” he said, his lips quirking into a smile.

“So are we all in agreement? Alexander said, ignoring his subordinates.

“ _No, we are not in agreement_ ," James retorted sharply. " _I_ am not in agreement."

Alexander aimed his practiced look of puppy eyes at James. “Please,” he begged. “You don't want that asshat to win, right?”

James sighed. “I–“

He was interrupted by Alexander's phone. Everyone turned to look at Alexander as he took it out and answered. “Yes?” he said flatly. His expression soon changed into dismay and irritation. “Yes, Schmidt, I'll be right there. No, this is more important. Yes, I have James and Lafayette here. Yes, be there as soon as I can.”

He disconnected the call, then looked around the room gravely. It was unsettling to see such an expression on an usually cheerful face. “I am terribly sorry for being so abrupt, but we need to reschedule this meeting. A matter of utmost urgency has come up, one which needs my immediate attention.”

Korinth rolled his eyes. “You can't just leave us like this. I cleared out my entire schedule for–“

“This is a _little_ bit more important than this,” Alexander said laconically. “A president can never know when something happens, a fact which you seem to forget, Senator Korinth.”

Korinth huffed, making his displeasure more than clear, but, at Burr's pointed look, the eight politicians were escorted out of the Oval Office. As soon as the door closed behind them, Alexander sagged against the door, closing his eyes. Lafayette approached him, putting a hand to his shoulder in concern. “Are you okay?” he inquired.

Alexander smiled emptily. “We have an emergency on our hands. India has just declared war on Pakistan.”

He heard rather than saw James draw in a sharp breath. “Well, fuck.”

Alexander thought that summed up the situation quite nicely.

* * *

Eliza was preparing for the evening's show when she heard the news.

All week long, she had been avoiding Lin and Daveed, not wanting to have the painful conversation of 'hey, you know my friend's dad, how cool!' – the only way in which it would be more awkward would be if Lin and Daveed knew that she was Eliza, but there was no way she was prepared to have _that_ conversation, either.

The others have noticed, of course. They were too tactful to confront her directly, but she has seen the cast shoot her bewildered looks, likely wondering what happened to alienate the main couple from each other.

Except that she wasn't alienating Lin. She _wasn't_.

It was during her rendition of 'Helpless' that the news broke. As a result of that, she was one of the last people to get the news. She heard whispers, and saw, out of the corner of her eye, Daveed watching her with something akin to pity in his eyes. She didn't want that look aimed at her. She was on the receiving end of it too many times already.

_My real crime is an amorous connection with his wife–_

Lin sang his part, oblivious to the commotion around them. She then had to endure Renée's song before she could find out what the buzz was all about. As soon as her part was over, she hurried to Jasmine, who also had her phone out. “What happened?” she said fervently. “Everyone has been anxious for the past ten minutes.”

Jasmine looked up from her phone. Her eyes were distracted and her voice distressed as she said, “The president has been shot.”

For the second time in as many months, Eliza's world fell apart, and it was all she could do not to do the same.

She couldn't say for how long she just stood there, staring unresponsively at empty air. It couldn't have been long, because Lin was suddenly in front of her, grabbing her hands and squeezing. “Philippa,” he said urgently. “Look at me,” when Eliza didn't react, he raised her head to meet his eyes. “Eliza, go and see your Hamilton. Make sure he's okay. I'll call your understudy,” he said quietly, and Eliza should be shocked or suspicious that Lin somehow _knows_ , but all that she could feel was a relief that she wouldn't have to fabricate a plausible excuse to leave. She merely nodded her head as thanks and turned on her heels, already calling Washington to get her to let her through the security that would undoubtedly be posted around the hospital.

* * *

John found out through the television. He was on his self-ordered lunch break, absentmindedly watching the news because the inspiration was yet to strike him so he might as well keep himself updated on the going-ons in the country, when, in blazing letters, _BREAKING NEWS_ flashed across the screen. The cap under it said _PRESIDENT SHOT – CONDITION UNKNOWN_.

Twenty seconds and a call to Washington later, John was on his way to Bethesda. In the car, he phoned Thomas, informing him of where he was going. Thomas agreed to meet him there.

* * *

“Is this Dr George Westchester?”

A pause. “Yes, it's me. What is this about?”

“Your son has been shot, sir.”

* * *

Inside the Oval Office, the anxiety levels were as high as the could go.

“No, I don't need excuses! I need to know who shot the fucking President of the United States!” James seethed, briefly glaring at the phone. “Yes, preferably _now_! I don't care if you have to use all your resources. I don't _care_ if you work overtime. We need to find the person who shot the president!” With that, James Morrow disconnected the call angrily, resisting the irrational urge to throw his phone across the room. He sometimes regretted that they were no longer using those old-fashioned phones, because one could at least slam them with a sense of satisfaction.

Aaron watched him warily from across the room. Lafayette had followed Alexander to the hospital in an ambulance, which was just as well, because Aaron doubted that Lafayette would even be capable of working right now.

James turned to Aaron, suddenly reminded that there was another person in the room. “Burr,” he said firmly, “I want you to start preparing a case. Use everything you've got, prepare for every possibility. As soon as we have the perpetrator in our custody, I want to be able to _act,_ ” James' eyes were blazing with unbridled fury, and Aaron was reminded of why, between Jefferson and Madison, he was always more wary of the shorter Virginian.

He searched for the right words, but couldn't find them, so he settled on a simple, “Yes, sir.”

James dragged a hand over his face, closing his eyes in fatigue. “Dismissed, Burr.”

As Aaron was leaving the Oval Office, he saw, out of the corner of his eye, James eyeing the chair behind the desk as though it had personally offended him.

* * *

 _BBC News World_ @bbcworld  
President Hampton shot, Morrow takes over bbc.in/2hRo6nT

 _Fox News_ @foxnews  
Tragedy at the White House fxn.ws/2hFa9dP

 _CNN_ @cnn  
PRESIDENT ASSASSINATED – NATION IN VIGIL cnn.it/2hid6SY

* * *

Lafayette was already there when George arrived, having gotten past the crowd of reporters outside. Of course he was. He was probably there when Alexander got shot. George felt a pang of pain at the thought. He flagged a nurse. “Do you know the condition of the president?”

She shook her head but pointed him in the direction of the desk. He thanked her and repeated the question to the receptionist, who looked at George. “And you are?” he drawled.

George fought the urge to roll his eyes. “George Westchester, Alexander Hampton's foster father and next-of-kin.”

“Oh!” the man said, instantly more polite. “I'm afraid that the president is still in surgery, so we haven't received an update on his condition. If you will wait in the waiting room, I will inform you as soon as I know more,” he pointed him to the room where Lafayette was already holding vigil.

“Thank you,” George said briskly, taking a seat next to Lafayette in silence.

He watched as the muted TV kept showing footage of the shooting, of Alexander collapsing on the ground as a bullet ripped through his shoulder, of Lafayette collapsing next to him, though for a different reason, of him checking Alexander's pulse. The caption _NATION IN SHOCK_ flashed. There were people talking about the incident, though George couldn't hear what they were saying. (It was just as well.)

* * *

Lafayette's phone rang, but the man in question did not react to the sound. It rang again. George narrowed his eyes in annoyance. On the second ring, George crossed the room, taking the call on the third ring. “Hello?” he greeted neutrally.

“Who is this?” a male voice demanded. “I need to talk to Gilbert du Motier.”

“My name is George Wash– Westchester,” George hurriedly corrected his slip of the tongue. “Who am I speaking with?” he asked.

The man paused. When he spoke, it was in a somewhat calmer tone, though the anxiety from before was still present. “I am James Morrow, acting President of the United States,” Morrow eventually replied. “I need to speak with Secretary du Motier.”

“He doesn't want to talk to anyone,” George replied evenly. "I would even go so far as to say that he is in no state to talk to anyone."

“ _I need to talk to him_ ,” Morrow stressed.

“There is no problem with my hearing, good sir,” George retorted. “You don't need to reiterate your words.”

“Mr Westchester, our president has been shot. _Your son_ has been shot,” Morrow emphasized. “I need to know that Lafayette is okay. I really cannot handle losing another cabinet member at this moment.”

George sighed, leaning against the wall, watching Lafayette with tired eyes as he stared at the wall. “He is okay,” George eventually said. “He is at the hospital, as am I. Alexander is still in surgery.”

Morrow let out a breath. “Good, that's good. Well, not good that Alexander is in surgery, but good that Lafayette is there. Keep me updated, Mr Washington,” he disconnected the call, leaving George dumbfounded and not a little incensed.

* * *

“James Madison remembers,” Washington said as soon as Eliza walked into the room.

She cast a glance at Lafayette, who was still unresponsive. “If he knows…” she began.

“… then so do the others,” Washington finished. “Lafayette," he nodded at the unresponsive man.

“ _Alexander_ ,” she breathed.

* * *

Lafayette noticed that people trickled in. Washington. Eliza. John. Martha. Even Thomas was there. They all assumed that Lafayette didn't notice, but of course he did. The problem was that he noticed _too much_. He didn't want to notice. He wanted to sink into oblivion, to forget that Alexander, his _petit lion_ , his fierce beloved, got hurt on his watch, and that Lafayette was unable to stop it.

He would give anything to make the feelings go away, to make Alexander well again. He did not really have anything to lose at this point.

* * *

When John arrived, Eliza was already there, as were Washington and Lafayette. John took Eliza aside and whispered, “What's the news?”

Eliza didn't meet his eyes. “They say he is still in surgery. I don't know why it's taking such a long time. I mean, it was just a shoulder wound–“

“Not to be pessimistic,” John said, laying a hand on Eliza's shoulder, though whether it was to ground her or himself, he didn't know, “but speaking as a soldier, even shoulder wounds can be serious, even fatal. Of course,” he hurried to add at Eliza's distressed expression, “that was during the 18th century, without any of the modern treatment now available everywhere. I'm sure Alexander will be fine.”

Somehow, that didn't reassure Eliza in the least.

* * *

At some point, the door to the waiting room opened and James walked in, surrounded by Secret Service, who were not about to take any risks with the vice president as well. He looked weary and pale, his face drained of all joy. Washington, Martha, Eliza, John, and Thomas all looked up to see James approach Lafayette, but nobody spoke, curious to see whether James could coax Lafayette out of his shell.

“What's the status on Alexander?” James asked Lafayette. “I need to know in order to prepare,” he elaborated. “ _Gilbert, please,_ ” James' eyes shone with unbridled emotion.

Lafayette looked up from where he was fiddling with his hands to keep himself occupied and his thoughts from wandering to Alexander and his condition and when or if he was going to make it _if if if he was going to make it what if he wasn't what if–_

 _Stop_. James asked him something. James in question looked anxious, but was holding up admirably. Lafayette ran a hand through his hair, not meeting James' eyes. “They say he is out of surgery,” he began with the good news, “but he is in a coma and still in a critical state. They don't know if he wakes up, if he even makes it through the night,” he choked on his words. “Jemmy–“

James, uncomfortable but determined, enveloped Lafayette in an embrace, which Lafayette leaned into, taking comfort in the fact that at least someone was okay, that someone else knew what Lafayette was going through.

Lafayette looked up at James. “Do they know who did it?” he whispered.

James nodded grimly. “The Klan,” he said. “Apparently there were some members who were dissatisfied with how progressive and liberal Alexander is acting, and decided to take matters into their own hands.”

Lafayette pressed his face into James' shoulder, lest he saw just how much righteous anger it contained. “Where are they?” he growled.

James' posture sagged. “One of them has been killed by an FBI agent, and the other two have been apprehended,” he informed the other man. “The FBI is currently having maximum security around them. I put Burr on the case,” he finished, ignoring the way Washington's fists clenched at the mention of Burr's name.

A quiet “Good” escaped Lafayette's lips.

James eventually took a step back, surveying the Frenchman with a critical eye. His mouth contorted into a grimace as he took in Lafayette's state.“Are _you_ okay, Gilbert?” he finally asked. “You look exhausted. Take a nap,” he advised. “You need it more than you need to sit here and worry yourself sick. There is a couch in the adjoining room. Just for half an hour. _Please_ ,” he practically begged.

“Alexander needs me here,” Lafayette objected vehemently.

James nodded in acquiescence. “Yes, but you will do him no good if you collapse on your feet,” he said firmly.

Lafayette opened his mouth to argue, so James switched his attention to the five spectators who have hitherto been quiet during the exchange. “Thomas, make sure he gets some sleep,” he ordered. “Drug him if you have to. The same goes for the five of you,” he gesticulated at the group with his palm. “The last thing we need is for you to faint as well, and it's just waiting to happen if you continue to push yourselves over your limit, which I see that you are doing. _Get some sleep_.”

Having said that, James turned around and marched out of the waiting room, the group of agents trailing him like puppies after someone with dog treats, except that these puppies had guns instead of sharp teeth, guns they would not hesitate to use should anyone threaten James Morrow.

* * *

 _Peggy Scott_ @margarita32  
My thoughts go out to @AdotHam and his family.  
_2 903 279 reblogs_

 _James Morrow_ @JemmyMorrow  
This afternoon, white supremacists made an attempt on President Hampton's life as a result of him being frank on sensitive issues like (1/5)

 _James Morrow_ @JemmyMorrow  
immigration and equality, but our voices can never be silenced. We will continue to fight for our right to live and be ourselves in this (2/5)

 _James Morrow_ @JemmyMorrow  
country, for equality, for freedom, for a society where everyone can love whomever they want without fearing persecution, where nobody has (3/5)

 _James Morrow_ @JemmyMorrow  
to conceal their identity because it makes someone uncomfortable, someplace where even orphan immigrants can leave their fingerprints. (4/5)

 _James Morrow_ @JemmyMorrow  
This is our fight. Our love. Our story. (5/5)

 _James Morrow_ @JemmyMorrow  
“Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love, cannot be killed or swept aside.” – @Lin_Manuel

* * *

Things picked up after that. The doctors moved Alexander to a room in the ICU. The doctor in charge of Alexander's care allowed them an hour of visiting time, which they all took advantage of. John wished them good luck getting Lafayette out of there by the end of that hour though.

Thomas soon left, though not before promising to return later with food for everyone.

Lin eventually called Eliza. He said he wanted to check in on her, and also to ask about Alexander. “He is out of surgery,” Eliza said at length, “and they say that his condition is stable for the moment. They say there is a high chance he will wake up,” she hesitated before continuing. “You know,” it wasn't a question.

Lin let out a sigh. “Yes,” he confirmed, “and so does Daveed.”

“For how long?”

“You'll have to be more specific,” Lin replied. “How long have I known that Hampton is Hamilton, or how long have I known that you are Eliza Schuyler?”

Those had different answers? “Both.”

“Since day after opening night,” Lin began, “and since you touched the saucer and began behaving oddly, respectively.”

“I did not act oddly,” she objected.

She could imagine Lin grimacing as he thought up an appropriate explanation. “Well, not _oddly_ per se, but it was not normal behaviour for Philippa either,” he eventually said. “The others noticed some discrepancies, but they put it down to stress.”

“Why day after opening night?” Eliza settled on a question that diverted Lin's attention from herself.

“Because Hampton, Morrow, and Lafayette attended it. From what I have been able to gather, Alexander pulled some strings to get them last-minute tickets under a false name,” Lin explained. “Alexander approached me after the show, telling me how grateful he was for all that we've done, and how amazing everyone was.”

“And Daveed?”

“Lafayette turned out to be… a little on the enthusiastic side,” Lin said awkwardly. “He was all over Daveed, jumping around like a bunny on speed. How is he hold up, by the way?”

Eliza glanced briefly at the man in question, who had taken up vigil by Alexander's bed. “Let's just say that he isn't as cheerful now,” she said delicately, "and leave it at that."

“Ah.”

Lin ended the call after saying that she could take as much time as she needed, for which Eliza thanked him profusely.

* * *

Eliza left to get some food. She shot John a meaningful glance, and he followed her out. “What is it?” he asked as soon as they closed the door.

“Nothing, but the Washingtons deserve some time alone with their son.”

“What about Lafayette?”

Eliza scoffed. “Like they'd be able to force him out even if he was listening, which he is _not_.”

John winced, but conceded the point. Lafayette wasn't handling it well. None of them was.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know anything about Ken Mehlman other than that he is a homosexual Republican, so forgive me if I offended anyone by distorting his views, either positively or negatively.
> 
> The last part will be posted shortly.


End file.
